"I hope you got a decent settlement, whether the son and his mother knew or not. After all, you'd worked there a long time. Over twenty years, didn't you say?"
"I gave most of it to charity," she said. "Part of my penance, I suppose."
"Isn't that rather—I don't know—Calvinist, of you?" I said.
"Calvinist." She laughed. "That's an interesting way of putting it. There are days I wish I were Catholic. Confession might help. I can't even bring myself to go to any place of worship, though. I haven't since I took up with George. That was his name: George. It seemed rather hypocritical to pray to God when I was acting the way I was."
"So how have you managed to get by, then?" I said. "Did you get another job?"
"I took a few temporary assignments. I was too old to get another permanent position."
"So how did you get from temp assignments to looking for what's his name's tomb?"
"Lars Porsena. One day, after a particularly trying assignment, I ran into an old acquaintance of mine. We were reminiscing about the summer we'd spent in Italy many years ago, working on an archaeology project at Murlo, Poggio Civitate, a great site south of Siena. We'd both signed up as volunteers on a dig being conducted by Bryn Mawr. It was the most wonderful summer of my life, I have to tell you, and suddenly I just decided to come back to Tuscany. I have some savings, and I think my Italian is good enough that I may be able to do some secretarial work from time to time. Finding the tomb of Lars Porsena was as good an excuse as any."
"And are you glad you did it?"
"You know, I am. I still get mad when I think about those louts, both of them, father and son, but when I'm out in the countryside poking around, I feel quite at peace. Telling you about it is making me angry again, though, so let's talk about something else."
"That's a remarkable story," I said. "But if you want to change the subject, I have a question for you. I've been thinking of doing some sightseeing tomorrow in Cortona. Is there anything you'd recommend I see while I'm there?"
"Yes, indeed. There's a nice museum, not huge, but a lovely collection. It has a fabulous Etruscan bronze lamp."
"I was thinking more outdoors." I don't know what made me think a tanella was outdoors, but given that I was reasonably sure that the word meant den, it made sense to me that it would be.
"Cortona itself is quite wonderful. Medieval hill town. It's certainly worth many hours of wandering.
I'm into Etruscan stuff, of course, so I'm slightly biased in what I'd recommend. As is the case with most of the old Etruscan city sites, there's not much Etruscan left to be seen. There are a couple of places, though, that are quite worth seeing: I'd be sure to go to see the Meloni and the Tanella di Pitagora."
"What's that?"
"The Meloni are tombs, melon-shaped, as the name implies."
"And the Tanella?"
"It's wonderful," she said. "It's an Etruscan tomb as well, but very unusual. It's barrel-shaped and sits on a very large stone base. The roof is supported—I'm telling you more than you care to know, I'm sure."
"It sounds very interesting," I said. "Where would I find it?"
"It's not difficult to find. You take the Arezzo-Perugia road toward Cortona. It's about two kilometers from the highway, on the main road into Cortona. You just follow the signs for archaeological sites. The tanella is well marked. It's partway up the hill on the way to the old town. You can just park on the side of the road and walk up. It's not far. You're supposed to make an appointment at the museum to see it, but don't worry about that. Just follow the fence around, and you'll find a place you can crawl under without too much effort."
"I'll do that," I said, picking up the wine bottle. "There's still some wine left. I vote we finish it."
Her reply was interrupted by loud banging on a door down the hall. "What is that?" I said.
"Signora Leonard, open the door," a voice said. I turned and looked at Lola. Her face was white as a sheet, and her hands were shaking. "No, please," she said. The banging continued for a minute or so, and doors opened and slammed down the corridor, as other guests presumably looked into the hall to see what was going on. There was a pause, finally, and the sound of a door opening, then a few seconds later closing, and then footsteps in the hall, heading in our direction. Soon there was a sharp knock on my door. We both stood motionless, hoping it would go away, but then I heard the clink of keys. It was obvious if I didn't answer, they'd come in anyway. "Who's there?" I said, grabbing my bathrobe.
"Polizia," the voice replied.
"One minute, please," I said, quickly pulling off my blouse and pants and putting on the robe. I motioned Lola to get into the bathroom. She just stood there as if rooted to the ground. I scooped up the hydria from the bed and handed it to her, gave her a push, which got her going, and slowly opened the door a crack, as the bathroom door clicked shut.
"What is it?" I said. Two police officers stood at the door, one tall and thin with a rather dashing mustache, the other short and rather plump. They did not introduce themselves. Behind them, looking nervous, was the young man from the front desk.
"We are sorry to disturb you, Signora," the short one said, looking at my bathrobe and almost leering. "We're looking for Signora Leonora Leonard."
"I'm afraid you have the wrong room," I said, pulling the robe tight around me. "I believe she is staying down the hall."
"She's not there," the tall police officer said.
"Looks as if she took off without paying," the young man from the front desk said. "Clothes gone and everything." The taller man glared at the kid, who blushed.
"She was here," I said, "For a drink. But she left." I knew the kid had seen me talking to Lola and might even have heard me invite her up to the room, so denying it would be a very bad idea. Lola had, however, neglected to mention the fact that she was no longer a resident of this hotel.
"Do you mind if we have a look?" the tall one said. I opened the door and stood in front of them, but they pushed past me.
"You didn't finish your wine," the tall one said, looking at the table. Two half-full glasses of wine sat there, along with the remains of our picnic.
"No," I said. "We'd had enough."
"Good wine," he said, picking up the bottle and peering at the label. "I wouldn't waste it, if I were you. Did she mention where she was going? Signora Leonard, that is?"
"No," I said. "I'm afraid not. I just assumed she was going back to her room. I wasn't aware she'd left the hotel, and she didn't mention it. I don't really know her very well, of course. We just met this morning."
The short policeman peered into the closet, then walked over to the bathroom door and pushed it open. He looked in but didn't actually walk into the room.
"Sorry to bother you," he said at last, and the three of them left. I half expected one of them to ask me to get in touch with them if I saw her, but they didn't. I closed the door and waited as their footsteps receded down the hallway. After opening the door a crack, just to make sure they were gone, and then securely locking the door, I leaned into the bathroom.
"It's okay, Lola," I said quietly. "They've left." Silence greeted my words. I pushed back the shower curtain. No Lola. I checked behind the door. It took me a minute to realize that the window was unlatched, although it was pushed closed. I opened it and looked out onto the fire escape. No Lola there, either. I couldn't see anyone down in the alleyway below, and there was no sound except the drip of the rain and the sound of cars out on the street to the left. "If it's a money problem," I called down as quietly as I could. "I could lend you some cash to pay your hotel bill." Still no answer. I could only assume that Lola was gone. It took another minute or so to realize that the chimera hydria had gone with her.